


Heaven In Hiding

by x_Medusa_x



Category: Alien: Covenant, Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Cuddles, Dream Sex, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, PWP, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Wall Sex, dubcon, idk soft David 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 18:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11064444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_Medusa_x/pseuds/x_Medusa_x
Summary: David 8 has an obsession with Reader; after adjusting the endorphins to your cryopod, you have a particularly naughty dream (with him as witness).Literally just soft PWP.





	Heaven In Hiding

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just softcore sin with David being a lil perv. I needed something wooby after canon and Eyes Closed :0   
> You bet your butts the title is (another) Halsey song!   
> enjoy, lovelies!

He isn't entirely sure obsession is the correct term for how he feels regarding you. It is possibly what a human would call it, but he is not human. He prefers several other terms - infatuation? A pre-destined attraction? Overwhelming lust? It could be any - or perhaps all - of the above. 

Regardless of what the correct term is, here he is, standing beside your cryopod once more, watching you dream. The dreams always seem to vary, but he finds them interesting nonetheless. There's a sense of closeness, of intimacy, in peeking into your mind. If you knew, you would probably be disturbed, but you slept on, oblivious to the blond watching over you. 

Perhaps it was his constant presence, but he had leaked into your dreams once or twice. He had been pleased to note that you hadn't treated him like a slave. It was perhaps those initial dreams that had set him off to begin with; the way Dream-You had behaved towards Dream-Him. 

The device was not a mind reading machine, but in more than one dream, he had seen you kiss him. That was an exchange he couldn't wait to experience in real life, if at all possible. He was quite sick of only reading descriptions of such exchanges, or replaying the memory of your dream. He wanted to touch you. Feel you. Taste you. He simply wanted, which, honestly, was more than enough to drive him half wild with impatience. 

You wouldn't awake from hypersleep for a while yet, though, and it simply wouldn't do to wake you early for no good reason. Especially when he had no clue how you would respond in real life. 

No. He had a better idea. Hacking into the cryopod's mainframe would be quite simple; it was programmed to give the inhabitant pleasant dreams, but that didn't mean he couldn't tinker with the endorphin levels, even if only briefly. What would you dream of with a heightened - if temporarily suspended - sex drive? It was perhaps perverse that he wanted to find out, but he, ever logical, could easily substitute 'perverse' for 'scientific', not that he really felt bad to begin with. 

\---

You knew the halls of the Prometheus like the back of your hand. It was a splendid vessel, well equipped for anything and everything, with a fine crew of pleasant people (the exception perhaps being Meredith Vickers), an assortment of the latest technology, and an excellent digital library. 

None of the aforementioned held your attention like the man - was he a man? - leaning casually against the wall. That should have struck you as odd - he did not ever slouch, nor seem casual. At least. Not when the majority of the crew was around. Perhaps, to them, he was as insignificant as a piece of the furniture or technical equipment, but not to you. 

Were you truly the only one who noticed the eerily human glint behind wide, curious blue eyes? The only one who found his consistent curiosity endearing, rather than annoying? He had lived longer than you, and yet there were still things that you knew that he did not. Perhaps he was just perpetually curious, like a puppy presented with new amusements, only a little more curious. 

Did nobody ever wonder, besides you, why he chose to dye his hair? That was a spectacularly human thing to do, to choose a personal aesthetic based on tastes and heroes, the latter being only a guess. When he spoke of likes and dislikes on occasion, it seemed as if only you were listening. 

It was - or rather, it seemed - wrong, but your own curiosity stemmed from desire. You were human, and born female. Amongst your sexual and romantic preferences, men certainly had a place. He certainly did, although it seemed a little wrong to you, to desire somebody who may have no say in whether they were intimate. 

Somehow you did not think that was the case, simply because of the way he looked at you. Was looking at you right now, as he slouched against the wall ever so casually. 

"We are alone, if that's your concern." His voice was pleasant, had been designed that way, but you liked the soft British hint to it that was uniquely his. He often wondered why the American Weyland had given his substitute son a British accent, but such a detail seemed trivial. 

"Will we get into trouble? Slacking off duty like this?" You were so very hesitant. 

"We shan't be disturbed." He crooked a long finger, beckoning you over, "which I rather think is what you would prefer." 

It was a statement, not a question. You had not seen such confidence in his speech before; was this what he was like, when he wasn't being forced to play slave? It disgusted you, the way Holloway and the others taunted him about not being "real". 

He seemed perfectly real to you, tall and broad and beautiful, peering down at you with the faintest of head tilts, as though trying to figure out a complicated mathematical equation. 

You were not a mathematical equation, he decided, but rather a small little thing peering up at him with parted lips that seemed to beg for kisses. He had lips, did he not? (He did, and you found them rather kissable); surely you wouldn't mind? And if you did, well, discretion was advisable. 

He half expected to have to bring you to him; he was pleasantly surprised to find that you met him halfway, your mouth pressed eagerly to his. It started soft, curious, but grew swiftly into a passionate exchange, his lips molded perfectly to yours. 

Your hands found his neatly dyed hair; he had changed the style, and you found you preferred it on him, the little piece of individuality in the form of bleached locks styled like a hundred and so year old film star. His hair was as soft as you had hoped, if a little messy from your caresses. 

He leaned into the touch, suddenly craving the simple affection, and then more. So much more. It was selfish, perhaps, but his desire for your touch was so strong it almost pained him. Almost. 

"Have you ever made love before?" Your question was soft against his lips; you barely wanted to drag away from the kiss. 

"I am aware of the specifics." He brushed a stray piece of blond hair from his eyes, "was that a request?"

You blushed; he noted how the extra colour in your face highlighted freckles barely visible before. 

"An invitation." For a linguistics expert, you sure were tongue tied around him. 

"I see." His breath was warm on your skin as he kissed your jaw; there was no hint of stubble on his face - he preferred to be clean shaven, arrogantly (and correctly) assuming that he looked better without facial hair. 

You were afraid you had overstepped a mark there, but he seemed unfazed by the request, even pleased. He kept you held close with one hand, while the other slid inside your sweatpants, past cotton panties. He felt a rush of pride and arousal upon contact with the damp fabric, but remained impassive. Human women preferred the idea of a man who knew what he was doing, or so he had read. It wasn't that he didn't know what he was doing, either. He just wanted to please you, and himself. Preferably at the same time. 

Two long, thin fingers found his target, spreading your wetness around your entrance almost lazily, his thumb rubbing at your slightly swollen clit. 

Yes, he thought idly as you moved almost unconsciously into his touch, he knew what he was doing. He kissed you breathless, muffling your little cry of surprise and pleasure as he slid first one, then both, fingers into your tight heat. 

He couldn't wait to hear the little sounds you made, the way you would feel around him, when it was his cock, rather than just his fingers, buried inside you. 

Your fingers - your hand was rather small, he noticed, but then again you were in general compared to him - slid into his own pants, wrapping lightly around their target with seemingly no issue. 

He could be patient, and he was, working you open and ready for him with the patience of a saint - blasphemy, you chided yourself quietly. 

Blasphemy aside, you swore you'd gone to heaven. He turned you abruptly, so that you, now, were the one pressed against the wall. He somehow managed to make undressing you simple and sensual, rather than awkward. 

You wanted to get him undressed, too, but he was too impatient; the most you managed was to unbutton his olive green shirt before he hoisted you up, glad the wall was there to support you. You wanted to make some quip about equality, considering you were completely naked to his gaze, but something told you it wasn't worth the comment. 

He simply was too beautiful. Chiseled body, angular cheekbones, beautiful eyes, lips parted, hair mussed from her attention... God, you wanted to remember this moment forever. However, your musings were interrupted by the rather pleasant sensation of the length of his cock sliding against your wetness, not quite trying to enter you, but most certainly teasing. 

You gave a halfhearted little noise of want, but he did nothing, merely flashed you one of those sexy little smirks he often wore. 

"Say please." His breath was hot against your lips, the hand that wasn't secure at your waist bracing against the wall. 

You hadn't expected that; you were so surprised for a moment that you had to rush to comply, putting on your most innocent expression complete with soft little pout. 

"Please?" 

He uttered a soft groan and what sounded like a curse as he slid into you to the hilt in a single, fluid thrust. You gasped at the intrusion, your tight walls struggling to adjust to his size. He shifted, the head of his cock brushing against your sweet spot; your head lolled back just a little, lips parted in an unashamed moan. 

You were so warm, so wet, so tight. He had to adjust his sensory processing input only slightly, only briefly, just to ensure he didn't short circuit (ha! If only! He was better than human, not a circuit board) as you took his length, wriggling your hips to adjust to him. 

"You feel so good," his voice was hushed. Reverent, almost, lips brushing your collarbone as he rocked his hips slowly, experimentally. 

"Do I?" You were pleasantly surprised, and yet so eager to please him. You wanted him to enjoy this as much as you were, loving each rock of his hips, each movement of his cock inside your eager cunt. 

"You cannot possibly imagine," another soft moan fell from his lips, and you sighed; it was instinct to close your eyes, but you wanted to commit each second of this to memory. His eyes were bright with wonder, and yet soft with affection as he stared at you, hips still rocking steadily. 

"You can be rougher," you told him gently, "I won't break." 

"You'll... like it?" It was all a matter of personal preference, he knew. 

"If you do it right," you teased, and he laughed gently, seizing a good handful of your ass to readjust you, increasing the tempo and pace of his thrusts until your nails dug into his biceps. 

"Like this?" 

"Yes!" You managed to gasp out, "oh god, yes, more, please!" 

There was no god, no heaven, only him, his arms steady around you, the steady thrum of his heartbeat as he fucked you. 

"God, more, please, more!" You didn't care who heard, only that he give you what you craved so desperately. 

He complied eagerly, harder and faster, desperate to please you, to bring you to climax. It didn't take long; he was big enough and skilled enough of a lover to bring you to the edge - and over it - twice, then a third time, your fingers tightening on his biceps each time, clawing at the skin there. (He would not scar no matter how hard you clawed at him, and even if he did, he wouldn't have minded). 

"You going to come for me?" Your eyes were heavy with exhaustion and affection, fingers carding through his hair, "you can come for me, David, please?" 

He loved hearing you say his name. Not the designation with the number after it, but his name. The one he had given himself. God, he may very well just love you. 

He held you tight, nuzzling his lips into your collarbone as he came, moans of satisfaction muffled against your skin as he filled you with whatever it was that comprised his release. 

He let you catch your breath, carrying you over to the large, half circle couch designed for the crew to sit and watch films on. 

"Rest now." He kissed your forehead, placed a blanket over you. You captured his lips in another passionate, albeit sleepy, kiss.

\---

Your dream was so very fresh in his mind as he lay on his bed, hallways and rooms away from your cryopod. His hand was a poor substitute for the sensations he had felt whilst witnessing your dream. 

He wondered - more like hoped - that when you awoke, you would be more than happy to relive that dream, but for real this time.


End file.
